


Gathering Tide

by Gabriels_Mourning



Series: All Of My Days [1]
Category: Mercy Thompson Series - Patricia Briggs
Genre: F/M, Gary Laughingdog, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 15:30:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3734008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gabriels_Mourning/pseuds/Gabriels_Mourning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Had to rewrite some because more of Mercy's Universe was revealed in some of Patty's new releases that I've just been reading.  </p><p>Title is completely pretentious, but the story took in a much longer and more complicated direction than I first thought.  If anyone has any ideas, feel free to post!  You WILL get credit for it if you come up with one I like...  Or you're a muse for the one I like...</p><p>So, Story is Ben's life gets complicated, Bran comes to visit and has a very good reason for doing so, Mercy and Adam are Mercy and Adam and there's new and old characters, including every's favorite coyote half-brother...  But there's a lot more going on, as there always is in Mercy's world.  Oh, and Stefan get some...  :)</p><p>Usual Legal Jargon, blah blah, I don't own any of the gang aside from my original characters.<br/>The wonderful Mrs Briggs owns the rest.  I receive no money from any of this and nor do I want any.  This is just telling a story that I'd love to tell.  Kind of a shame that we can't sell them out as a franchise though, that would be cool, wouldn't it???<br/>:)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gathering Tide

_** GATHERING TIDE**_

* * *

* * *

Mercy

I opened my eyes slowly, seeing the light dawn grey filtering through. It was Saturday, which meant I didn’t have an alarm, but would still go into work. Most of my regular customers knew I was unofficially open on Saturdays, at least for a half day. I was supposed to be finalising a restored Vanagon for an incredibly easy-on-the-eyes young surfing pro that was visiting his mother in the Tri Cities for the winter. But Adam was still asleep, and snuggling with him was still one of my favourite ways to wake up. He’d thrown the blanket off him in his sleep, and it was trailing down across one hip, just the hint of a buttock showing through. There were other ways I enjoyed waking up with Adam, too. I slid my hand over the curve of his hip and Adam’s head rose up, slightly more than military length hair askew and one corner of his lip perking up.

It was an irresistibly kissable face, and I was attending to that when there was a discreet knock at the door. Adam growled and there was a very long pause before a more determined knock. He was out of bed and flinging the door open before I could laugh, revealing a cordless phone defenselessly shielding Daryl’s body, which was politely turned away with another hand covering his eyes. The whole scene would have been absolutely hilarious given Daryl’s normally inscrutable features, but there was no smile on his face.

 “The Marrock.” Cold water dashed over both of us and I sat up in bed, gathering the sheets about me even though I slept in one of Adams’ old shirts these days. Adam nodded and took the phone, coming back to bed and hitting the mute button off as he slid into the mess of sheets.  

 “Bran, Adam. Mercy’s here.”   I wondered exactly what normal people did without hearing that let you eavesdrop on conversations that were taking place in another room. Adam was talking about putting cork in the walls. I was turning into a lush, because the first thing that went to my mind was the sound trials we’d be carrying out to see if it worked. Adam flashed me an amused glance as he caught my thoughts through our mate bond, then his eyes traveled down and I glared at him, turning my head so he wouldn’t see my smile.

 “I...” Bran’s uncertainty came through and suddenly both Adam’s and my attention were firmly on the phone.

 “I’m in Kennewick. The Diner is serving some rather devious chocolate chilli pancakes that I’d like to buy you. Are you free to catch up for breakfast?” Adam locked eyes with me, and I shared his concern. I loved Bran; he was as close to a father as I wanted, but he was still the Marrock, and the Marrock was half myth and half meaning. Still, Adam was a good soldier and a better man, so he nodded and made of those male sounds that should just be a grunt, but instead somehow conveys a great deal more. The good soldier was already looking to the walk in, ready to obey his Marrock’s command. But that’s part of the advantage of being married to me. I don’t do soldier. I do skirmish. And skirmish has attitude.

 “Do we need to be worried?” Outside the door, I could hear Daryl’s stoic silence take a hit as he scoffed in disbelief that someone would question the Marrock. Even Adam’s eyebrow rose. But again, I knew Bran. The silence on the other end of the line grew tellingly long. I tilted my head to see if the dark screen would show that the line was still connected, but Bran sighed.

 “I am.”

 By the time he hung up after that statement, I was halfway to the walk in, frantically searching for clothes and seriously considering the gun safe that Adam had put in my walk in for both our sakes. If the Marrock was worried, then sure as hell so was I.

* * *

 

Just for the record, if you’re ever in Kennewick, do your tastebuds a favour and visit Macy’s Diner. There are two eateries nearby that I will drive quite a ways to go to for. One was a taco stand that Zee and I had been visiting since before I was even his apprentice. Macy’s was the other. Bran, true to his word, had ordered a table full of pancakes that somehow managed to arrive just as Adam and I were taking our seats. I ignored Bran’s smug little smile and began to eat. Adam pulled a plate and literally drowned the pancakes in maple syrup until I was sure they were going to begin swimming off the plate. Another trick to werewolves – pancakes. Bran ate with joy, and Adam with his usual silent intensity. I picked at mine, watching Bran from the corner of my eye. The Marrock was at his innocuous best at the moment. A nice grey shirt that somehow brought out Bran’s youthfulness with its white sides and shortened sleeves was tucked into new jeans and classic grubby sneakers. He was a nice young man. And the deadliest wolf in North America. Despite the chocolate syrup that was stuck on his chin. After several minutes, the two wolves finished their meals, and Bran sat forward with Adam’s intensity, toying with the base of his milkshake as the ice cream oozed down the side of the glass. The woman serving us came along and whisked away our plates, pausing long enough to mother Bran for a second and hand him a napkin for his chin. Adam and I shared innocent looks as the Marrock scowled at us. He went back to studying the base of the milkshake glass and leaned forward to play with the straw. I bit my tongue from scalding him like the little brother he looked like.

“There’s been a development in Britain.” He spoke with his usual consideration, being very careful not to display any emotion about the issue. “The London pack has been wiped out.” Adam’s eyes widened as I followed suit, but a bit more enthusiastically. The London pack was the second largest outside of the Marrock’s pack, and the largest in Europe. The biggest concentration of werewolves outside of North America, and it had been wiped out. Adam recovered first, ever the soldier.

“Survivors?”

“One.”

“Do we have a suspect?”

“Yes. There is a seethe in London. Largest outside of Milan. The surveillance indicated supernatural involvement.” I stared at him. Vampires vs. Werewolves and not a smile in sight. Because the reality was suddenly so very, very scary.

 “You’re saying…?” Bran shook his head.

 “I’m not saying anything. I’m gauging your reaction. The two of you have more active current Intel on vampires than any other person I can contact. I need your help on this.” He gave a sudden soft conciliatory smile to me, and I was a little dismayed at how much it worked. “I miss you, too. I don’t get to see you that often these days, Mercy. But yes, I am the Marrock, and I do have responsibilities, and there’s more than just the one reason that I’m in front of you.”

 “Ben.” He nodded to Adam’s cryptic monosyllabic assertion. Tad would have made a smart remark about his word-a-day calendar gift to me if I’d said that out loud.

 “He’s the last person to leave the London pack, and quite recently. The… survivor I mentioned is somewhat understandably traumatized, now that she can relax under our protection. I’d like to discuss the situation with Ben, and get his input. I want to find out what mess I’m walking into rather than hand it over to someone else.” Bran was the most powerful wolf in North America. I long suspected he’d had the ability to get anything done including a nuclear strike if necessary from behind the scenes, but he was talking like he could just walk into Scotland Yard and begin throwing orders about. He probably could; dominance didn’t end with state, county or even international border lines, but still, there were other wolves out there that served the same function that Bran did in other parts of the world. I was pretty sure that Bran wouldn’t step on toes. Throats, maybe, but he was too polite for political missteps.

 “Can you do that?” He smiled as he slurped his milkshake empty like a teenager.

 “I can do anything; I’m the chief of Police.” Adam frowned, but I smiled. Bran had never let me watch Jaws when I was growing up. It was the first movie I rented when I left Aspen Creek. Adam’s free hand had his phone up as his thumb danced across the screen. His other was idly playing thumb wars with me. I was catching up as he concentrated on his phone but his mouth was sensually curving into my favourite smile. I lost as I blushed at how easily my thoughts danced towards his mouth and what I wanted to do with it. I again felt that sensation of cold water across me as I registered that it was only one thing that we’d discussed and Bran had mentioned more reasons. Tying that in with his other statements about Adam and I and our connection to the undead mosquito people… I sighed. Naturally he was ruining the pleasant sensation of those pancakes with my least favourite blood sucking bitch.

“Marsilia” Bran’s eyes locked on mine, and he smiled encouragingly, or at my following suit with Adam’s cryptic monosyllabic assertion. Okay, it wasn’t monosyllabic.

“Yes. Among other things. Between the two of you, your… interactions and associations with her make the two of you the ideal candidates to gather information. She might not like you, Mercy, but she respects you. And she DOES like Adam. She can deal with him; he’s a man of honour. She’s a dangerous woman no matter that she’s a vampire. She could still bring the Master of Milan to his knees with a winsome smile. With the werewolves out, and the vampires still clinging to their secrets, I want to know if this is somehow an isolated incident, or a declaration of war. If this is something the vampires are going to invest in, I need to know, and the Enclave will need to act.” I’d heard of the Conclave, a big werewolf meet that happened before Bran had allowed the existence of the werewolves to be known. The Enclave wasn’t something that I’d heard of before, but Adam’s sudden tenseness spoke louder than words that he understood what I hadn’t. I was burning with curiosity, but took a deep breath, considered my options quickly, and then felt my face scrunch up in disgust at my own do-gooder status.

“We should be talking to the Queen of the Damned.” Adam smiled and a little breath of a laugh escaped his nose in a cute scoff. Bran frowned for a moment, before comprehension lit his young features.

“Your tame vampire. Can you get in contact with him?” Adam growled low in unhappiness, but Bran flashed him a look and Adam dropped his eyes reluctantly. I don’t know if Bran knew the details of my fragile psychic link with a man other than my husband or not. That he trusted Stefan or not was debatable, or if he’d just meant to pick up the phone. It was hard to tell, and Bran was still Bran.

“I’ll try.” I closed my eyes.

_“Stefan?”_

_“MERCY”_ Light blazed in my mind and suddenly the connection was crystal clear. The sounds and smells of the diner faded away and I was in his house, hovering almost, just behind his head. He sat in a huge theater room, with a bunch of mid to late teens and some older people, watching a projection monitor. Warmth and happiness surrounded and enveloped me. He seemed at peace, watching over his flock. I had the strange sensation, despite the happy atmosphere around the room that he’d fed deeply. There was something else, too. Another presence that he was hyper-aware of even though they weren’t in the room right then.

 _“I’m… are you…?”_ I decided I didn’t want to know if he was sleeping with someone. Stefan had long had something of a thing for me, which was another reason that the Queen of the Damned hated me. I wondered that he hadn’t said anything if he’d been seeing someone else. He was quite good friends with both Warren and Ben, and neither of them had mentioned he was seeing anyone. Again though, I decided that I didn’t want to know. At the last minute, I switched my track as I heard African chanting and a familiar theme sounding. _“Are you watching the Lion King?”_

 _“Even I can enjoy a good movie. Bad Movie Night is wonderful, but sometimes, you need to go all Lion King on your spirits.”_ I would have pegged him for a Scooby-Doo marathon person, not a Disney classic.

 _“You seem different…”_ That hyper-awareness kicked in as I heard footsteps falling on carpet behind him.

_“Marsilia is here. I’ve moved houses. Things are… you’re right, they’re different.”_

The scariest vampire outside of Wulfe that I’d ever laid eyes on was wearing a thick woolen jumper that showed off her thin shoulders in a somehow vulnerable light, shirtless and probably braless over tight pale jeans and black boots. Her hair was tied up and fell about her in soft curls, and overall, she looked soft and attractive, very appealing to a soldier. Outside my mind’s eye, I felt myself moving towards Adam possessively. He wouldn’t understand right away, but he didn’t need to; he just put his arms around me protectively. The man was a monster with how easily he made me fall for him all over again. I focused on Marsilia through Stefan’s eyes again. I’d seen people through other’s eyes a time or two, and it always struck me as how their mental perceptions changed the view. Stefan worshipped her, but held himself back from her because she was so much more than he was. He couldn’t tell, but it seemed to me that she wasn’t happy with that and was reaching out to him. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, given that Stefan was my friend, and she was a class "A" bitch who ruthlessly destroyed people to get what she wants. I’d often thought of staking her just on generally principle. The thought cheered me somewhat, and I wondered how much Stefan got through our faded connection. 

_“She’s almost… domestic.”_    Although there was plenty of room on the huge couch for the both of them, he stood up, offering her his seat. She gravely declined and perched on the overstuffed edge. Stefan’s eyes dropped down the curve of her back for a moment before turning away in embarrassment as I groaned in appropriate shame at his wandering eye. He’d always been the perfect gentleman with me. _“I’m asking if you can come and speak to us. Marsilia should come too. It’s important, for all of us. Can you tell where we are, we’re in Kenne…”_ He cut me off with a frown as I felt him briefly connect with my mind again.

 _“It would not be appropriate to bring the Mistress to a… Diner…”_ He stumbled as Marsilia’s hand touched his, and he locked eyes with her. Her expression darkened and she withdrew her hand. 

“The walker. You are with her now?” I mentally cringed.

 _“That seems defensive. She knows we’re still linked?”_

_“She’s not happy about it, but she knows.”_

_“Great, another reason for her to hate me.”_ The conversation was over in an instant, and Marsilia straightened as Stefan nodded.

“She is with Adam and another that I cannot see. They are asking us to meet them to discuss an important issue, Mistress.” I kind of hated the way he said her name with such reverence. She was high on my hate list because of how carelessly she’s treated him in the past, but the way she was looking at him now, and the way he still looked at her, made me think that Stefan’s feelings ran deeper than his hurt. 

“This would… please you?” Stefan paused then nodded.

“I have never known Mercy and Adam to do wrong by me. If they ask to meet, it is for reasons worthy of respect.” She nodded, and swallowed, then inclined her head in acquiescence.

 _“When can we meet?”_ I thought furiously for a moment. _“It’s to her benefit. I think. There’s a situation in London.”_ Another thought occurred to me as Marsilia’s body language shut Stefan out. He noticed, but forgave her, considering the bad blood between the two of us. Stefan had kind of almost had a thing for me once. I was pretty sure he was my friend. He was most definitely an ally. And he was hers, belonged to her heart and soul. She didn’t like me. But, as Bran had said, she did respect me. Maybe. If she didn’t know how much she scared the pants of me. _“Actually, it might be better if she knows what’s happening before we speak to her. You can tell her we’d like to stop a war.”_ Stefan’s shock registered through his silence. Then he nodded decisively.

 _“We’ll meet you at sundown. Uncle Mike’s?”_

_“We’ll come to the Seethe. A show of faith.”_ More shock, then he looked at Marsilia again and frowned. He was very slow in responding.

 _“I… very well…”_

_“Stefan?”_

_“Yes?”_

_“If she’s making you happy, then I’m happy for you. We might not be the friends we used to be, but your happiness has always been important to me.”_ The sudden flush of warmth and relief from him made me want to give him a hug. Sometimes even blood sucking monsters need a hug. Especially when they were your friend. Maybe.

 _“I’ve missed our friendship, too.”_ Adam’s arms were around my shoulders, keeping me warm even though I wasn’t cold in the bustle of the diner as my head cleared of the connection. A small headache came and went as I rubbed my temples. Bran watched us with hidden wisdom in his eyes as I settled back into Adam and gave them both a reassuring smile. 

“Tonight, at the Seethe.” Bran nodded slowly ducked his head to me in thanks. Something about his pensiveness tugged at my intuition.

 “You’re coming.” He didn’t even bother to act surprised, or innocent.

 “Yes. This is a far larger issue than just me. This has global ramifications.” Adam rolled his eyes.

 “You sound like a politician.” Bran looked startled, and Adam laughed deeply at the look of shock on the Marrock’s face. Slowly he smiled while I ignored the blissfully idiotic feeling of Adam’s laugh tumbling through me, reverberating in his chest against my back. I loved that man. But he made me a marshmallow. I was still going to go to work later today, just to remind myself I wasn’t a girly girl.

“I’m not God, Mercy.   He might be omnipresent and omniscient, but sadly, I can’t control the world.” I grinned at him.

“Wanna bet?” Adam smiled at my snark, and rolled his eyes at me. He was cute when he was exasperated. He was always cute. It made him cuter. I kissed his nose; tilting my head up and telling him I loved him along our bond. Bran snorted and cleared his throat in fatherly disapproval.

“Bugger off, Dad.” Bran looked as though I’d struck him, suddenly hurt, though it was gone in a flash. Adam stiffened beneath me before Bran’s scent and power suddenly flickered blankly and disappeared as his face went still. I hadn’t known he could do that.

We stayed in tense silence for a moment as Bran stayed still, before he reached forward and spun the salt shaker on its edge like it was perfectly balanced. He stared at it like it hypnotised him. The silence grew longer before he spoke, as still and as far away as a shadow on the sunset.

 “I never had any idea how to be a father to a daughter. Especially not to one who was not wolf. If you had of been wolf, you would have been a simple task. But you weren’t. You were never…” He still carefully concealed his feelings in his scent and that blank mask. Maddeningly, I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, where this was coming from. If I hadn’t known him, I’d have been fooled like everyone else. It was a part of who Bran was that he could cover himself in a cloak of innocuous innocence and disappear like a coyote through the tundra; he was constantly underestimated. Idly, I wondered if it was part of the Marrock, or a part of Bran that made him the Marrock. He fell silent after that, though he just continued spinning the salt shaker on its access, like a small glass break dancer.

This was some type of magic, I thought. Bran didn’t open up. He sat there, in understanding silence, making you want to tell him all your secrets because he wouldn’t judge you. Sure, we were away from people, and there was no viable threat, at least not with Bran and Adam sitting there, ready to back one another up. Bran trusted Adam. He liked him. But he was still opening up, baring himself vulnerably to a wolf who as almost as dominant as any other alive in North America. My breathing was very shallow as he tilted his head, staring at that spinning shaker like it held all the mysteries of life and the universe. Or maybe just of Bran.

“Part of being the Marrock is knowing exactly what you’re doing at exactly the right time, and knowing that it’s the right thing to do. For the first time in centuries, I stumbled. A tiny, fragile little spitfire coyote with more spirit than wolves I’d known and run with for more than an age came to me, swinging and clawing and biting, showing more life in her than I’d ever seen. I had no clue as to what to do with you. Every time I tried to put you back in line, you were so completely meek and obedient I felt as though I had some beautiful rose in my paw and was crushing it repeatedly. And then I’d turn and you were already scheming to get me back. I’d never known someone with so much will, so much life and fire... Charles saw that first. When I’d had to send my son to take the life of those lost to the wild or the fang. He came back and asked to sit with you. That was all he’d needed. To be reminded of what it was like to live a life so full of spirit that there was no emptiness possible.” A smile came to him then, of wonder. “Oh, the fights that Samuel and Charles used to have over you...” I started then, and he laughed at the look of disbelief on my face.

 “No, Mercy, not those kinds of fights. Charles thought you were too precious for what Samuel had in mind. That Samuel wouldn’t respect or treasure you for all that you were, only for your possibilities as the mother of his children... Samuel argued because he felt there was no one he would treasure more for exactly that reason. He and Samuel disagreed completely over Samuel’s feelings for you.” He laughed again softly at my face. Charles scared me. Almost everyone knew it. But Samuel was Charles’s older brother. And for Charles to stand his ground against his brother for me was something I would never have thought of in a million years. The salt shaker got another spin for its lack of enthusiasm and Bran lapsed back into his nostalgia.

 “When you left… I wondered if I’d done you a disservice. Sometimes I still wonder. I knew you would leave, of course. But there was… less. When you left.” Somehow, I knew he meant more than simply numbers. “That’s part of why Leah was so hard on you. She understood that I missed you. That my thoughts were with you and what I could have done differently. I am not your father. I never have been and nor would I take that right from Bryan. But you are as much a daughter to me as I have ever had. And I should have done more.” His sudden, soft smile broke my heart, and I was terrified for a moment that I would speak, and somehow disturb this quiet moment. But Adam, feeling my emotions soar and tumble through our bond, was the one who spoke.

 “You…” Adam shifted and I clamped my hand down onto his tightly, urging him to silence. But the spell was broken and then Bran’s solemn face came back, calm and contained as he gestured, urging Adam on. “Whatever part you played in her life, small or large, Bran. You are a part of what made her perfect. Couldn’t ask for more than that, my friend.” It hung there for a moment, when two of the most important men in my life stared at one another, until slowly Bran reached forwards and put his hand on Adam’s shoulder, all traces of that boy gone as he looked on proudly, and shared a moment with the other half of my heart that spoke more than a congress worth of words. Stupid tears bit at my hot eyes and I wiped them away with my sleeve before either of them could see them. Bloody men. I stubbornly refused to sniffle like a kid with a skinned knee. Bran nodded once, perfunctorily at the two of us as he stood up, and the salt shaker rocked back onto its base, as though it was sorry to see its playmate go.

 “I have the survivor under guard at the moment. I’ll gather her and come back to your den. How long will it take Ben to get there?” Adam glanced at the clock on the wall.

“Less than an hour.” Bran nodded again.

“I’ll return with her then.” Adam ducked his head in acknowledgement that was more of two friends than two of the most powerful werewolves in the country. I sat up and cleared my throat, gathering myself and checking to make sure my voice would be cool and unemotional.

“Her?” Bran’s face was a mask again, but the tinges of amusement still tugged at his lips.

“The Princess.” I stared at him and felt like the stupidest person in the room.

“Um…the who, sorry?”

* * *

 

Ben

 Ben slowed his truck as he came up on Adam’s house. He felt off. Like something was wrong in his perception of the world. It wasn’t the Columbia pack. Those bonds flowed in like always, coming at him like strong winds through a forest. It was old stirrings. It still felt like pack bonds, but as he sat there and breathed deeply, he could feel each flow of wind around him, each brush of air from his pack. He frowned, gripping the steering wheel tightly and then cracking his knuckles. Something was off, and it wasn’t pack. He looked down the road, and saw a white SUV, with four guards standing outside of it. It looked senatorial, or some kind of “I’m not government, I swear!” corporation, actively trying to get away from the stigma of black SUV’s. The four were wolves, though, from his guess. The real wind didn’t carry their scent, but he knew for certain that they were. They looked his way and the menace suddenly rose in them, all four of them eyeing him with professional aggression. Ben casually slid out of the truck and locked the door, then went through the closest gate up the path. He knocked on the door, and he could almost feel the menace notching down from the four eyes on him. The door opened and handsome older woman of about fifty answered it, wearing a flannel shirt tucked high in the sleeves and old pants. Sixties music reached his ears and the astringent smell of chemical lavender and citrus reached him, making him want to sneeze.

“Good day, I’m wondering if Mrs Klahanie was home? I’m supposed to be hooking up her home network, but I’ve gotten a bit sidetracked and seem to have misplaced my work order…?” He didn’t look away from her as she frowned and then her eyes drifted over him a bit. She straightened almost casually, her hand going up to her hair.

“I’m Elizabeth Stanworth. I don’t believe there’s a Mrs Klahanie in the area; I know most of the locals.” Ben gave her a false smile and affected a regretful air.

“I’m sorry to have troubled you, Mrs Stanworth. I believe I must have the wrong address.” She smiled as his eyes moved over her casual clothing and up to her eyes. “Not entirely unwelcome, of course, but I’m still sorry to have troubled you.” She gave an easy smile, and shrugged, the corner of her shirt falling off one shoulder. She made no move to correct it as she gestured behind her.

“Interruptions in cleaning are always welcome. You live local, don’t you? I’ve seen your truck about, parked near Mercedes house a few times. Are you a friend of hers?” Ben’s smile caught for a second, before he gave her a grin that reached his eyes and brightened them.

“You know Mercy?” The older woman gave an indulgent smile and put her hand forwards, aiming for Ben’s wrist, but he moved his hand away to run it through his hair.   She awkwardly touched his lower chest and crossed her arms in front of her immediately afterwards.

“She used to take care of Thomas’s wagon, before he passed. She’s a dear young thing. Needs to find herself a man.” She was assuming they were lovers, thought Ben. Panic threatened to overwhelm him for a moment before he gave her another false smile.

“She has one. My brother Adam, he lives in the property that lives behind hers. I’m over there quite a bit. She’s certainly a dear, close friend.” Unlike Elizabeth Stanworth, Ben thought ruefully, who seemed little more than gossip hungry, if harmless.

“Adam... oh, Christine’s husban... sorry, ex-husband. I always liked him. Bit of a temper on him, but I never saw a mark on her. And their daughter is a beautiful young woman, but she needs to stop dying her hair...” She prattled on, but Ben pushed her sound to the back of his head, allowing himself a moment to ignore the snarl he wanted to give at her criticism of Jesse. Ben felt no particular love for most humans, but Jesse was different. Not only was she young and vulnerable, but she was also Pack, and Adams. And although he’d never admit it to anyone other than Adam, Ben liked her. He’d never tell Warren, because Warren would enjoy telling Jesse. The Stanworth woman continued to prattle on to him as he smiled and began checking his watch. Oblivious to such an overt hint, she took a breath to keep talking and he coughed suddenly.

“Well, Ms Stanworth, I’m terribly sorry to have interrupted you, but I must head back to my office and find where I’m really supposed to be today. I hope you have a pleasant day.” The lie sounded bold to his ears, but she smiled and nodded.

“You come back anytime, sweets, and interrupt my cleaning. You’re more than welcome.” There was a lingering meaning in her look, and he bowed his head and turned, heading up the path again back to his truck. When the door closed, he looked through the glass panelling to either side of the plain wood and watched her form retreating up some stairs. He leapt over the gardens that lined the path and made a straight run on silent feet towards her back fence, taking it in a high vault and landing feet and hands down to brace himself. Silence being his main concern, Ben took the back fence at a loped run, levering himself over it in a manner that would leave any witnesses in no doubt that he wasn’t human. But there were no witnesses, and he ran along the back river bank towards Mercy’s property, keeping the men and their SUV out of sight as he came up behind Gabriel’s shack, though he couldn’t see it yet, as he was hugging the bank.  

His time wasting ruse with the Stanworth woman had been long enough that the feds had turned their attention elsewhere, but there was still something strange in his gut; a feeling that was only getting stronger as he got closer to the white SUV. He could feel a thrumming in the wind, like a frantic heartbeat but different. Adrenalin was surging through him and he was starting to shake. Someone was messing with him, he thought. Or calling to him. He checked the bonds with Adam and Mercy, then Warren, Honey, Mary Jo. None of them were affected, they all seemed normal. He started to feel frustrated, knowing that he was missing something. Adam’s presence came back to him as he felt Ben reach out and felt his unease. Something was happening; his Alpha was stressed, but not in danger. Ben closed his eyes as he came to the rear of Mercy’s property, where he could see Gabriel’s lodge and ran up behind it, keeping the SUV blocked behind it so they wouldn’t see him. The sense of urgency was tugging at him, teetering into an abyss of feverish reaction. He heard the SUV open and a woman’s frantic voice before one of the guards snarled at her and slammed the door shut again. Ben steadied himself as the sense of urgency reached a peak, and he couldn’t stand by and do nothing anymore. Someone was in danger. Someone was going to die. He moved around the side of the tiny lodge and charged.

* * *

Katie

Katie could feel herself shaking. She closed her eyes and tried to control her breathing. She wasn’t going to change, but she was close. Something was going on, and she didn’t know what was happening. Her wolf was restless, pacing and unhappy deep in her soul. Her pack chains about her were loose memories, adrift and listless; she could still feel something out there, regardless, another stronger connection that gripped her stomach. Her wolf knew something that she didn’t. Katie was far more in sync with her wolf than was probably wise, but that was who she was. She’d always skated to that wild side and dipped her fingertips in the water. She was twitchy and off. She could feel something wrong. She opened the door, unable to bear it anymore.

 “Look, warden, there’s something…” The guard by the door snarled at her wordlessly and kicked the door, smashing it back into her hand and Katie grunted in pain, and then bit back the flash of anger. Anger wasn’t good when she was this restless. She contented herself with thinking about slapping Bran when she got out of this car, which probably also wasn’t wise, but was also who she was. She looked up as the window darkened, and then it cracked, as a guard’s body slammed into it. It held there in grim fascination until his head was tilted back and slammed into the window, shattering it. Katie braced herself against the other side, frantically pulling the handle but it was child locked. She turned back to find herself staring at Ben’s pale blue eyes. They were wild with the fight, and she was caught up instantly in the power of his gaze. His eyes swept over her, checking that she was alright, then came back to her face. Katie was lost. She couldn’t breathe. She was reaching out to him when he was dragged from the car, and she felt that loss of connection like a physical blow, staggering her. Katie gasped, and then scrambled for the open door, almost tumbling out in her haste, forgetting the slumped form of her captor. Ben was being circled by three guards, with a forth running up from the front of the main house, where Bran was. He was pulling two tasers off his hips and arming them with swift precision born of long practice. Katie’s eyes were inevitably drawn back to Ben as G1 lunged forwards, feinting. G2 darted forwards, but Ben neatly sidestepped, shifting all his weight and crushing down an elbow onto the back of G2’s head, right at the base of the skull. The pure violence of the movement stunned Katie, but Ben was already in motion, accepting the gridiron charge of G3 and lifting a hip, throwing him hard and away, but entwining his arm with G3’s flailing limb and jerking hard downwards, pulling it from its socket and slamming him face first into the asphalt. He groaned even as Ben shuddered, rolling to get away from the slash of a blade from G1 that had opened him up badly across the shoulder blades. Ben snarled in pain unintelligibly, but whipped around, losing his shirt in the process. Katie gasped as he turned, seeing the length of the blade’s wide slash, from the top of his neck down over his right kidney. She whimpered as she saw bone. Ben roared and G1 came forward, a confidant stalk, keeping Ben’s attention on him as G5 took aim with the tasers. Unable to help herself, Katie leapt in front of him, feeling the tasers pierce into her and the biting charge unleash on her. It was far more powerful than a regular taser, breaking and searing her and making her scream. She hit the ground at Ben’s feet and watched him in slow motion as she felt her world swim in the haze of pain. Ben roared soundly, like a dinosaur from one of the old B movies she’d watched back in London, pushing everything he ever hated into the one, suddenly insane scream. Berserker rage lit his features and the wildness showed in his blazing yellow eyes. He ripped the taser bullets from her, getting into a tug of war suddenly with the other wolf, who tried to hold on. G1 darted forwards, burying the knife to the hilt in Ben’s chest, but Ben lurched forwards two steps, suddenly gathering slack from the tug of war with G5. Katie watching in fascination as even in his killer rage, Ben looped the taser wires around G1’s neck and picked him up, garrotting him from the front and charging forwards. They crashed into G5 and Ben looped the slacking wire around his throat too, and then fell to his knees, choking them both over his bent back. Katie’s head cleared and she got to her knees unsteadily, crawling forwards as Bran and a man and woman came shouting out of the house. Ben’s yellow eyes locked onto Katie’s face and he panted with the exertion of lifting the kicking wolves over his back. Katie breathed heavily, staring at him as she reached up and touched his face. Bran stopped suddenly, holding the other two back, even though both were going more for Ben out of concern than threat, or so it seemed. Katie didn’t pay any attention to them; she had eyes only for Ben, knowing that he was losing himself in his pain and rage. Ben’s rage, she remembered, was a white, encompassing sheet of blindness. Her hands were on the side of his head, and she waiting until his breathing calmed and the yellow began to fade from his eyes. When their breathing matched, she tilted her head to the side and kissed him softly on the cheek, then put their foreheads together. She moved up and held his head to her chest and crooned softly to him. The two guards on Ben’s back slumped back as he let them go and sagged into her embrace. Katie held Ben as his arms came around her, covered in his blood. She kissed the top of his head.

 “Oh, Ben, Ben… I’m okay. Shhhh. It’s okay. I’m alright. We’re safe and you’ve protected me, little wolf. My brave warrior…” There was a scuff of boots on rock, and Bran’s voice came, clear and strong.

 “Stand down.” The guards backed away. Katie looked up as a dark, sensual man reached forwards and put his hands on Ben‘s shoulders. The woman, who looked Hispanic or Native American, ducked around and protectively stood between Ben and the other guards, glaring them off despite Bran’s warning, before reaching down and also putting her hand reassuringly on Ben’s arm. Ben sighed and grew still, though against his body, Katie could feel his heartbeat, strong and sure. Bran tilted his head and narrowed his eyes as the guards lined up.

“It seems introductions may be in order. Katie, this is Mercedes; she’s family, and Adam, Alpha of the Columbia Basin Pack, her husband. We’re here because we need their help.” His eyes went down to Ben’s slumped form. “It appears things are more complicated than we were aware.”

 

* * *

 

 

The guards, although roughed up and needing some quick field medicine, as Adam had called it, would all be fine. Werewolves were weak as thousand day leather, as Katie’s father had used to say. Ben’s back was cleaned and dressed, and the chest wound began to heal as soon as the dagger was drawn out. He’d simply stared at Katie as she pulled it out, flinching when it caught on his shoulder blade and apologetically twisting to get it out of the way, gouging the wound wider before throwing the blade in anger and spraying the room with flecks of blood. They were alone in one of the numerous bathrooms in Adam’s house. Not a word had been spoken since they’d come inside the house. Adam and Mercy were upstairs fixing the guards. Adam’s security system was better than the best money could buy, and the house was locked down. She could feel Ben’s heartbeat beneath her fingers, and her wolf was waiting, almost expectant, but still quite vocal. She clenched her jaw as she could almost sense Ben’s wolf’s silence in return.

 “Never thought I'd be seeing you again.” Katie bit back a retort at his quiet statement.

“Given that you ran like a scalded dog to another country, that’s not surprising, now is it?” Her words were crisp and biting, and she reminded herself that she was unbelievably happy to see him, even if now that things were quiet she was angry at him, too. His head was down and he smiled to himself, having missed her attitude. Katie ignored the maternal feelings that smile bubbled up in her. Ignored them hard.

 “It wasn’t by choice. Only by decision. It was the lesser of a many evils.” His voice was quiet, and Katie sat down next to him. Their shoulders touched and she turned to him slightly, wanting much more.

 “I know you wanted to stay. I know you wanted… other things.” Ben didn’t move for a long time, and stared at the floor. His blond hair was curled and unruly with length, and her fingers curled into a fist in her lap so that she wouldn’t push it back out of his face so she could see him better. His pale blue eyes sought hers, and again came that feeling of completeness when she stared at him.

“Theren was dead. I’d killed my pack mate, my... Intentionally. There are few crimes so heinous in our world.” He fell silent, and Katie turned away.

“There’s some though. Some crimes unforgivable in the human world, or ours.” Ben flinched and pulled away from her momentarily, until she followed him, shoving him lightly with her shoulder. He took a deep breath and sighed.

“That’s a long time ago.” The muscles in his jaw clenched as he ground his teeth, and Katie moved away from him, giving him his space. Her heart ached in her chest, where she’d held him less than an hour ago. He had clung to her so gently, even in his rage and pain. Ben was far gentler than any other dominant werewolf Katie had ever met. The only problem was that that gentleness had been abused and hurt, kicked and punched down until it was no more than a spark inside of him. She crossed her arms over her stomach and held herself, wishing his pain away. But pain never listened to wishes.

“That was today, Ben. Yesterday, last week. Every day that you let her hurt you, she does. You’re a survivor, Ben. Every day you let this haunt you will be another spent hiding who you are from people. I’ll bet you haven’t even faced this with your pack, have you? You’ve just lashed out at them, driving them away.” A soft smile of wonder came to his face as he shook his head.

“Some of them don’t listen. Mercy. Adam. Warren and his partner. They know.” Katie took that information in slowly, almost in shock.          

“She’s dead, Ben. Your mother is dead.” He nodded slowly, blankly. “That should mean something.” Ben’s head moved slowly to the side, tilting. His body was a statue, even as it healed. The presences of Adam and Bran were helping him heal much faster than usual.

“It should, shouldn’t it? My mother is dead. My brother is dead.  My sire is dead. And all I feel is… nothing.” Katie sat and listened, for the moment not knowing what to say. She just let Ben feel her presence and gently put her head on his shoulder. “She gave this life to me.  I was hers, heart and soul, for so long. She should have been… different.” Katie’s temper flared until she got it back under control. Ben’s nostrils twitched, noticing the clear, hot scent of her anger.

“She should have protected you. She should have been the one to step up and protect you, not wait for Theren to do it, then punish you both for being who you are.  She was bat shit crazy, Ben, and the world is well rid of her.”  Ben realised suddenly that her head was lying on him and stood up abruptly as the bathroom door opened. Mercy took the two of them in at a glance and then stepped back, out of the doorway. She met Ben’s eyes, and he ducked his head.

“Bran wants to talk to us all. Are you up for it? I can wrangle him if you need me to.” Ben shook his head wordlessly and steeled himself, then walked out of the bathroom, not looking at Katie. The Irish werewolf’s head dropped and she sighed before she began to pack up the first aid kit she’d borrowed.

“I’ll make sure he eats.” Mercy stood, arms crossed, coolly appraising her with mysterious eyes. Katie had never met a Native American before. But smiles seemed to come to Mercy far more often than anger. Though there was a mischievous streak in her a mile wide. Katie nodded.

“That would be good. He’s not badly hurt, I don’t think, but…”

“Are you Omega?” The question came from nowhere, but Katie had half expected its abruptness. Mercy seemed like someone straight to the point until the time she sidled up behind you and slit your throat. She had a deviousness that Katie could appreciate. Katie found she liked her.

 “No. Ben and I have known each other for a long time. For a long time, I thought... He was my best friend, in the pack, and I was his only.” Mercy’s face didn’t give anything away, but she nodded, confirming her reasons for asking. Again, Katie found she liked her more for her concern for Ben. He hadn’t ever had enough people in his life that did. The fact that Mercy was mated to Adam also factored in to why she liked her. If she’d been unmated and that concerned, Katie would have already been baring her teeth at her no matter how useless it would have been. Ben might not have been hers, but Katie would be damned if she was going to let him go in any hurry. And it seemed to Katie that Mercy would have understood, being who she was. Mercy wasn’t wolf, but she wasn’t human, either. Not entirely. But Ben trusted her. Had let her get close to him, despite everything. Katie took a step forwards, her arms crossed over her front as she held the small waste bin that was filled with bloody bandages and compresses from Ben’s wounds.

 “I was Druid, before I changed. It’s made my wolf… different.” She didn’t offer much and what she did offer seemed disconnected, but Mercy’s head moved, considering. Her stance softened somewhat, and she moved back out of the way, letting Katie through.

 “I’m a shifter. Coyote.” The corner of her lip twitched. “It’s made my pack… different.” Katie smiled as she moved back out to the kitchen, where she could hear a lot of wolves gathering, heeding to the Marrock’s call. Katie’s eyes widened slightly as she remembered that Bran had claimed her as family. She eyed Mercy again, and the shifter smiled slightly.  

“Katie’s a truthsayer. Can see to the heart of things; any action or statement. It’s an ability far more advanced than our usual abilities at sniffing out truth.” Bran smiled at her as he greeted them quietly, indicating he’d heard their conversation. Katie’s eyes slid past him, searching. Ben was standing beside his Alpha, his head bowed low as he quietly ate a huge, meat filled sandwich. He noticed her, because his nostrils were flaring. He didn’t lift his head, and Katie lifted hers in defiant anger even as the back door swung open.

“That’s a bit of a burden,” drawled a picturesque Texan cowboy as he walked in, winking at Mercy and bowing his head to Adam and Bran. He went and stood on the other side of Ben, languidly laying back over the counter and resting his head against the top cupboards. He tipped his hat to her. “Warren.” Ben leaned slightly closer to him, and Katie remembered that Warren was one of Ben’s friends.  

“Katie. And yeah, it can be. It shouldn’t be, after all, it’s just the truth. We can all smell a lie.” She shot Mercy a glance, and the Indian nodded sagely.

“Not-lying is a pretty decent skill, and more commonplace than we’d like around here though.” Mercy’s statement was met with a lot of nods from the room, and Bran somehow brought the attention of the room to him. Probably by simply being Bran. Katie looked to Ben again, and caught him watching her from under his bowed head. She blinked slowly at him, and ignored the heat that his eyes brought to her spine.

“And it’s most ardent users don’t know about Katie. That’s why I was in London. Werewolves can smell a lie, and the Fae know it. But I’ve had enough of their convolutions and negotiations. The time is coming when we need to have a greater stage than just the US to ensure we are protected. I was in London, hoping to secure Katie’s abilities for our negotiations with our magical brethren.” He glanced around the room, making sure all attentions were on him. Ben’s gaze was pulled in his direction, and Katie glared at the Marrock. Although his face didn’t change, somehow, she knew he understood what he’d done by breaking that connection again. “What I found when I got there was the entire pack massacred and Katie in human custody, the sole survivor. She escaped only because she’d been sent on a run to clear her needs for the night so she could stay behind and guard the pack’s building.” Dead stillness surrounded them, and Bran looked down at the table, his anger gone in an instant. “Tristan was a good man, a better leader. He served the same purpose there that I do here. He was a good…” He paused, and then waved a hand dismissively. Katie’s jaw clenched. “He was the best swordsman I’d ever seen. Changed in the days when that still mattered. He was Marcus’s second, and had been for long enough that he had learned from most of Marcus’s mistakes. He lived for the blade and the fang, and the honour in both. A good man. Slaughtered where he stood.” The Marrock straightened, all traces of the welsh poet gone from his fierce eyes. “I want to know what’s happened, and who is going to pay for this.” This was met with growls of assent from the wolves, except for Adam and Ben. Warren looked back at his Alpha and Mercy shook her head sadly. But Katie heeded Bran’s unspoken request for her silence. Bran didn’t want bloodshed. Justice, perhaps, but not bloodshed. And he was old, much older than a bloodthirsty wolf would have made it. That was part of who he was, too. There were, just barely, but there were still stronger and more vicious wolves out there than Bran. But none had his political acumen, or his wisdom. He was not-lying. He wanted it. He did; he wanted to crush and rend those who would hurt his pack, those who he deemed to be his to protect, which was all wolves. But he could also understand that a war between the vampires and werewolves would spread out and engulf everything in a sea of roiling blood, and destroy all that he’d carefully built. He was playing to his audience slightly, though she had no idea why. Katie glanced back to Ben again and caught his considerate expression. He’d known Tristan. And he’d known that while he was almost everything that Bran had said he was, he was also a killer, pure and born. Katie looked away from his lethal gaze as his energizing eyes slid into hers.

 _MINE_ , growled her wolf, low but insistent. Warren frowned in her direction before he glanced down at Ben and his lip twitched in a half snarl. Katie closed her eyes as she realised that Warren was very, very dominant and he knew, too, that Katie’s wolf was saying more.

 _He doesn’t want us,_ she reminded her wolf. Killer green eyes stared out of the darkness inside of her, and her wolf stood up, shaking loose the dead chains of her former pack about her like lace scarves for all the power they held over her anymore.

**"OURS."**

* * *

 

Mercy

 Night came too quickly, as it always did when I had something to do with the Queen of the Damned. Monsters came out at night. That might sound laughable coming from someone who slept next to a werewolf every night and could change into a coyote, but monsters scared me. I’d seen them up close. It was one of the reasons that I still went to Church. We’d had a quiet, restful day, napping and relaxing mostly. Bran’s guards, or at least as I was still thinking of them, kept a watchful but appreciative eye on Adam’s equipment. If he held any reservations about letting strange wolves into his den, he didn’t show it. Bran spent most of the day talking with Ben about the London pack, looking for anything he could that might help him. Katie, being a female, had been largely kept out of the loop on business matters, and had heard no scuttlebutt about dealings with vampires. Bran’s vigilance was becoming a bit worrisome, like he thought that there was something more going on here. Stefan called to change the meeting from the Seethe to his house, returning our earlier show of faith with one of his own. Stefan liked Adam, so it could have been just as easily about that, but I privately suspected that our trip was about to be far more fruitful. Stefan had been pretty quick on the phone, giving me the new address and assuring me everything would be solved when we spoke next, which I reminded him was still a long way away, and he needed to get some rest, given his nocturnal schedule. I headed out the back as Adam and Bran went over battle plans over heaping plates of roast lamb that I’d cooked. Bran had been more than happy to throw a few jibes my way about becoming a house wife, until I pulled my Glock out from my waistband and checked the chamber, before replacing it. Adam’s smile had been worth the sudden attention of Bran’s men, who nonetheless forgave me when the roast was followed by three batches of cookies. I saved the better ones for Adam. As they all scrambled for the platters, I moved out the back and latched the door, catching sight of Katie sitting alone in a chair, her model perfect legs twisted beneath her as she rested, taking in the last of the sun. I made my way over to her, and eased down into the other chair that rested beside it. It was still taking me time to get used to a werewolf that smoked. Katie stared at the cigarette in her fingers and blew softly on it. She had much of a starlet about her, like one of those sultry lounge singers that somehow managed to keep amazing vocals in the haze of bad watery booze and cigar smoke. I looked down at the chair she sat in and it brought a smile to my face. Adam and I had fought over these chairs. Even though it was Adam’s house, it was almost as much the pack’s house, too. I felt it wasn’t right for the pack to only have two chairs that faced the river and caught the last rays of the sun breaking through the trees just perfectly. Adam had growled and put both hands on my hips and pushed me against the door, his heathen lips racing fire up the side of my neck.

“They’re not for the pack, Mercedes.” His voice had been like warm, hot honey in my ear and my spine had melted into my hips, as it always did when he spoke to me in the voice he used when he wanted to get his way without being overly dominant about it. I’d lifted a knee into his hip for it and shoved him against the opposite wall and followed him, chasing his mouth with mine possessively. As always when I was plastered all over him, Adam never didn’t mind. So we only had two chairs.

“I hate bodyguards.” Katie didn’t turn and I nodded, having known that Bran would have been much happier to keep her in a tower somewhere, locked away, and would only have let her out if she’d had her own warrior contingent keeping the nightmares at bay. I laughed to myself, given my history with bodyguards and Adam, and Jesse’s, too. I missed her terribly, but wouldn’t take away the time she was spending with her mom. Even if her mom needed to pull her head in. Her bright blue head. I smiled to myself, acknowledging that while I didn’t like being petty, it was sometimes pretty fun.

“Yeah, it’s the dominant wolf thing. Adam’s done it to Jesse and me a time or two.” Katie nodded slowly. I turned my head, getting a decent look at her. Her pale Irish skin was silken cream perfect. There wasn’t a blemish to be seen, a lot of that having to do with being a werewolf, I thought, but she had something about her that told me she hadn’t changed much as wolf. Her hair was long, almost down to her hips, but curled and thick, loose about her shoulders. Her green eyes were riveting, though held in low by thick lashes. She wore boots that came to her knees and cut off jeans fit snug to her hips, and a jumper over her singlet. Jealously, I noted she wasn’t wearing a bra, but was still managing well. Her lips were the kind that guys described as succulent and sinful, thick and pouty with just the thought of ripeness about them. There was a lush sensuality about her, not the sharp challenge of Adam’s beauty, but definitely a vulnerable sensuality to her. If it wasn’t for that melancholy sadness that she held onto so strongly, she would have had any number of partners. Her pick of men. If I hadn’t known any better, I’d have said she was in mourning. Given that her pack had been killed, that wasn’t surprising, but this seemed personal.

“Did your mate die…? I’m sorry, that was insensitive, but if there’s anything we can do...” I cursed my curiosity, and Katie’s head turned back away from me, staring back towards the house.

“I’m not mated.” I wasn’t sure if it was because she didn’t know me or if it was because I wasn’t wolf, but her outright lie came across as almost resigned, like she knew I’d push and catch her in it, press her on it. Because she knew I’d do it, I didn’t want to. I remained silent. Her lip bent into a smile.

“You really did grow up with Bran. That’s his trick. Waiting until the lie gets to you, and then letting you reveal it.” I smiled then, and gave a little laugh, unable to help myself.

“He got me with that more than once. I was always convinced he was psychic…” Katie nodded.

“He is, a little bit.” I suddenly didn’t give a damn about meeting with Marsilia. Bran nuggets were worth their weight in adamantium.

“How long have you known him?” Katie smiled a little bit to herself.

“Bran’s secrets… You’re one of them, you know that? I wrote to him when word reached us of the Peanut Butter…” I shook my head energetically, and she laughed.

“Don’t you wolves have anything better to do than gossip? It made it all the way to London? I suppose that shouldn’t be a shock. Asil once told me it reached him in Spain...” The smile faded from her face.

“Tristan told us about it. Naturally, he thought it was the height of good humour…” Her Irish lilt grew thick in her voice. “He was ever a man looking to find humour in the misfortune of others.” She glanced back at the house. I was on the verge of changing the subject when she ran a hand over her head, cascading black ripples across her shoulders. I found myself envying her ringlets, bouncing so much more character than my straight hair, which was boring although Adam loved running his hands through it. And he was a devil at it, too, given his massaging fingertips.

“Branllewynn, as I met him, hadn’t been wolf long when he came to my father’s court. He was something of an enigma, even then. Witchborn, and more dominant than any other wolf had been in some many years. He looked so young when he came, but with Samuel’s sad gaze behind him, wisdom settled on his shoulders. He came to us as a travelling bard, and Samuel his healer son. Branllewynn... Even as a youngling, he was wilful. Not in a petulant way, but a stubborn way, when it came to honour. He was so strong in his wisdom, I thought at the time he’d rule the world. But that’s never been his way. He has no ambition, you see? And as so happens when the world meets a good soul, it challenges him. Bran was never a leader.” She smiled as she looked at me, reading my disbelief. I’d always thought Bran for all his control and annoying habits of dominance to be an incredible leader, though like his cute tail, I’d never dare to tell him that to his face. “He wasn’t. Leaders don’t make good leaders. Those with the charisma, and drive and will to lead, never make good leaders. They’re just the ones more willing to go after it. That’s the harshest truth of this world, Mercy. Those best suited to lead and care are never in positions of power. They help those who want it more to get there, and stay there. That’s how it was with my father. Bran helped him carve out a kingdom where none should have been. Our family had followed the druid way for nearly three millennia. We were Avalon. But my father wanted more. He wanted control. He wanted power. Mother’s father’s mother was hinted at being of the Marrock’s wife, from the tales of Arthur and his Knights. A Were. There was no greater power, in my father’s eyes. Immortal and powerful. And naturally, Father wanted a powerful Were to do it, as we were descended from royalty, and naturally, deserved no less. He searched high and low, but every Were he met knew he wasn’t someone that should ever be given that kind of power. My father was nothing if not demanding and dominant in human form, but far more power hungry. I remember him chaining a beast in his dungeon, telling him he’d only release him if he’d change us. He wouldn’t, of course. In those days, a Were was in even more need to keep quiet and stay out of trouble. People looked for signs that today, with science about, they would never dream of. Curdled milk showing a witch about, aversion to metal that comes with most fae, short tempered and killing around the full moons. Things that these days get passed off as superstitious nonsense were part and parcel of life back then. So father waited, until one day he heard of a witch who for a price would keep her Were in check and change whoever had the coin. Black Mother Cornick. I don’t know how much you know about her, but both her son and her grandson, both of them are witchborn. And a more bitter witch you’d never wish death upon. Regardless, father gave her the price she wanted. And we were changed that night.” She broke off for a moment, and stubbed out her forgotten cigarette in the dirt beside the chair, then flicked it towards the small outside barbecue’s grease trap; an old paint tin.  She sighed and leaned back in against the chair. I almost asked her about the smoking when she took up her story again.

“Black Mother held a special bond with her first wolf. It was a woman; I never learned her real name I don’t think, but she was called Hecate, though I’m not sure if it was ironic of Black Mother to have the Greek goddess of magic in her thrall or if that was her actual name. She must have escaped when Black Mother died, because she certainly wasn’t part of the pack that Bran ran for his mother. When father heard that she’d died, and how it happened, he made straight for Bran. My father was nothing if not capable in manipulation. Both of us suffered under him for longer than I care to remember, mother and I. One day, however, my father asked him to teach a lesson that Bran could not abide. They fought. My father marked Bran upon his tail, and scarred him. Bran nearly tore my father in twain. He nearly took his pack upon his own, but he’d had enough of the byzantine plots, and longed for a fresh start. He left, for the new world. My father’s second took my mother and I as prizes, and so we were passed to Marcus. When he died, we became Tristan’s, and that’s how everything changed.”

She fell silent for some time, and I didn’t want to voice anything but a whisper, I was so caught up in the story. “And Ben?” Again came that smell of hurt and sense of loss and even more strongly, I became convinced that she was mated and if I’d known any better, I’d have thought it was to Ben. But he was unmated, and she’d lied when she admitted neither was she. I knew enough about packs to know that. He’d never have been able to leave if he’d been mated. She would have come with him.

“Benjamin. Ben. I can’t even begin to understand how he sauntered in to my life. You ever play those video games where there’s some stalwart strong, honourable character with truth and justice on his mind and honour in his heart and blade?” I nodded, though with wide eyes, until she conceded her point with a duck of her head. “That was Theren. Ben, his brother, is the rogue who smiles to your face and cuts your purse or your throat while you’re blushing at his wit and wonderful smile. My mother pined for my father for centuries while Tristan took her as he pleased, a spoil of war. Finally, she went for a swim.” I felt like crying at her matter of fact tone. It was an all too familiar tale, although I didn’t understand her segue and what it had to do with Ben. Werewolves only suicide was drowning, unless it was attacking a far better fighter or more dominant wolf. Their bodies, even the lighter built female wolves, were far too densely muscled, and they tended to sink. I reached across and touched her arm. Katie’s brittle strength folded into her smile, and I couldn’t even tell if she was upset from her scent. What I could tell was whiskey and cigarettes. I’d never known a werewolf to smoke, given how horrid the smell was to anyone with a nose that worked. An inhuman nose that worked. Nonetheless, she fidgeted for a moment, then drew out a slim cigarette case and lit one. The smell filled the air and the haze swirled around her. My nose itched.

“Hecate came about a week after, sent by Jean Chastel. She’d been in his care after Black Mother Cornick died, but I still remembered her. She brought two boys with her, Theren and his brother, Ben. They were her slaves as though she had still a witch’s need for pain. Ben was her favourite; Theren made play to be her guardian, he’d been wolf for a short time before they came, whereas Ben was always far better at being the snarky rogue and was still human. She... had a thing for bad boys, and Ben has a streak of viciousness in him as wide as the English Channel which she’d fostered and nurtured in him because it amused her. Those two were devoted to her completely, and she took advantage of that with every second she had them for. He was her toy, nothing more. The sheer pain in him gave her so much power. I don’t know how it happened, but she still had a lot of power from her previous life as a witch. She was very, very powerful when she was turned, and she’d been ensnared by Black Mother Cornick, siphoned for her power by the Black Mother. As for Ben, she used him, manipulated him, treated him at times like a dominant mother, and at others like a rent boy. He should never have suffered her, but who he was brought it out in her. Ben is dominant. I’ve met few enough wolves as dominant when they are human. But he stuffed it down, deep inside, until it was nothing she could punish him for. A memory of a dream buried so deep even his wolf has forgotten to save himself now that he’s free.”

Ben was on the bottom of our pack, but he was one of the most vicious fighters we had. That didn’t always tie with being dominant, but I couldn’t see Ben being so. Katie smiled down into her hands as she played with her hair, flicking the curls over her finger and rubbing the shine.

“Hecate knew that Ben’s dominance would be a threat when she turned him. So she punished and abused him for it. Day in and day out for years under her tutelage. Until finally, he wasn’t dominant to her anymore. But she was never bright about these things. You don’t get less dominant. You just learn to cover it up. Normally that takes years to handle, but Ben’s survival depended on it and he was dealing with it as a human. So he managed. Somehow. And the dominant Ben went away. But that snark, that nasty side of him. It’s because of her.”  I’d known that Ben had been abused. But this was more than I could bear. I couldn’t even breathe. I’d never have suspected, not in a lifetime. I wept for Ben then. Katie’s own eyes poured tears, but her voice was steady, if low as she described the car wreck that had become Ben’s life.

 “Theren was easy enough to manipulate, to be honest. He was simple. More of a “burn fight kill” person than anyone with any emotional depth. Ben’s dominance made him complicated, challenging to Hecate. His will was almost indomitable because of his control and Hecate and Tristan both knew that if he was changed, then he’d be a challenge to their power. So those that should have protected him instead punished him for who he might be. That was the betrayal of everything that an Alpha should be. That darkness in him, that hurt, it swallowed the light that was his soul in every single way. Well.” She smiled then, soft and caring, and I caught a flash of her feelings when she locked eyes with Ben and begged silently that he see what she felt for him. “In almost all areas save one.” Her voice cracked and she bit down on a thumbnail, staring at it. I noticed she’d torn the others as well. “He brought me flowers, almost every week. He was such a sweet boy. Whenever he’d visit, he was… wonderful to me. He’d write me poetry. He was so smart when it came to computers, even then. The things he could do. When he was away to University, we talked, nearly every day. I waited for those video calls. His smiling little face, and his blue, blue eyes, and that angel wing hair of his. I couldn’t help it. I just…” I was in awe. I couldn’t imagine Ben, our Ben, being sweet. But the sharper the façade, the deeper the hurt, as I well knew myself.

“You fell in love with him.” She sighed deeply and then everything else clicked; her melancholy sadness and fierce affection for Ben. About her being not mated, yet mated, and Ben leaving when he shouldn’t have been able to without her. “Your wolf claimed him.” It was barely a whisper, but she didn’t bother to deny it.

“Women don’t get the chance to choose their mates, no matter the wolf. But mine did. Before I knew it. Wolves are always more aware of these things than the human side. I’d been left alone because of my history and abilities or so I thought; Tristan hadn’t wanted to lose an asset, even if he had no idea what to do with it. He was a dragon, jealously guarding his pretties. But the truth of the matter that I refused to look at was that the wolves knew I was mated. Even though I didn’t.” She looked down into her hands and unclasped them from their white knuckled grip. Something about her made me think she wanted to light up a cigarette again. “When Ben came home, I asked him if he wanted to be wolf.” Tears poured down her face, but her scent was filled with shame. “He said he would for me.” Silence fell about us, and I couldn’t help myself, again caught up in the story.

“I’ve... never heard of a woman claiming a mate before. I didn’t know it could be done. Of course, I believe you, but I’ve just never heard of it. That must have been difficult to handle. What did you do?”

“I told Tristan, and he laughed. Theren forbid it. But Hecate, in her madness, thought it a grand idea. She told me to bring him to her, so that she could find out for herself what his feelings were. I believed her, and rushed to Ben. Theren had argued with his mother, and she and Tristan…” She broke off and shook her head. Her breathing was shallow and I moved, swinging my cold legs off the long chair and onto the ground between us. “Ben and I made love in sheer blinding happiness while his brother was twisted to madness by his mother.” She held that gut wrenched silence for a few moments, then took a long breath and steadied herself.

“Hecate still had a lot of power. She was a full witch before she was turned, and the blood and pain she raised as wolf fed that dark power with every life she claimed. I don’t know if it was remnants of Black Mother Cornick’s magic or something that she was able to do with the pack bonds that had bound Theren to her as she made him. But she broke Theren’s hold on himself and chained his wolf in his body. He was mad with pain and rage and confined to his single, weaker form. The rapes in London were Theren turned loose. And that’s where Ben was lost, too. He’d been raised somewhat with Theren, and Theren was a good fighter. But Ben was vicious and would have been more dominant without Hecate’s mind games. Hecate and Tristan swore to Ben that Theren’s mind had snapped and that he was lost to his wolf. Neither Ben nor I thought to question them on it, because it wasn’t a lie. And we hunted him. For months, we hunted him. Ben learned everything about himself as wolf in those first few weeks, and months, side by side with me as we tracked Theren down. When we finally caught up to him, it took both of us to take him down, even in human form.”

“He was still mad, still so insanely mad, that he saw every woman as Hecate and hated them for what she’d done to him. I tried to reason with him, Ben begged him, reached for him in every way we could. But it was no use. I remember when I realised what had happened, when I tried to talk to his wolf. He was snapping and snarling in the chains we’d thrown on him, working himself loose until finally... Ben ended it. Ben... was gentle. Kind. At least to me. But Theren’s death broke him. Theren and Ben weren’t blood brothers, but they were almost the only pack that Hecate had at first. They were pack before the magic was there, no matter that Ben had remained human for a time. Theirs was a brotherhood forged in time and love for what the other meant. When he had to kill Theren, he lost it. We went back and he stayed wolf for nearly the whole week after. When he finally changed back, he was... lost. Adrift I guess, in who he was. I asked him to leave with me, and he left without me. Ben’s Truth, which I tell you now because you’ll be able to tell if I’m lying, is that he doesn’t know if he’s worth love. Doesn’t think he’s worth it. Hecate’s words in his ears for all time. And he wants it. Ben wants love so badly, wants to be cared for so badly, but he can’t accept it. His wolf never accepted me as a mate. And mine has pined for him ever since.”

“This is not your story to tell, Katie.” Ben materialised out of the darkness below us and stepped up towards her, and Katie surged up off the chair, knocking it over and me back. Ben steadied me with a hand as the back door slammed behind her. I enfolded him in my arms, and his shock registered for a moment, before he patted me awkwardly on the shoulder.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Tell Adam? Someone?” I demanded. Ben’s eyes were downcast as he shrugged nonchalantly, almost as laid back as Warren would have been.

“Too long a tale. Can’t change it now.” I stood staring at him, wanting to tell him that Katie loved him and he was worth it and that we loved him too as a family should, and that everything would be okay.

But this was Ben. And he was hurting. He wouldn’t listen to any of that. He’d only listen to his instincts. And Ben’s instincts were the same as every hurt animal’s. Two options; fight or flight. I looked at him, this member of my pack that was so loyal to Adam, and loved him so much. I wondered how I’d ever thought he could betray the pack, way back when Jesse had been kidnapped. I nodded, knowing he wouldn’t flee.

“Let's go find something to kill.”

* * *

 

Epilogue

Outside of Tecate, Mexico.

 The smell hit him first. Stale beer, sweat and the myriad other scents that always accompanied dives like this. The paint was peeling on the walls and if there wasn’t something rotting around the side that was probably yesterday’s menu choices, then he wasn’t his mother’s son. He was a huge man, a largess of strength, not just height. Thick arms and legs gave to a barrel body, thick and broad. He stepped through the doors into the stifling heat. Other scents swirled around him and he made his way over to the juke box and the table besides. A waitress seemingly bored beyond words made her way over. She looked at his features, and straightened a moment.

“What can I get you, chico?” Her accent was thick, so she’d probably stopped to switch to English. He took off his jacket, revealing his leather biker’s vest over well worn jeans. Several tattoos covered his arms and chest. The woman smiled at him a little wider when he brought out his wallet and let the heavy leather hit the table.

“Tequila. Two glasses. Thanks.” She looked back to the door, but shrugged and headed back to the bar. A moment later she returned and put the bottle and glasses down. He pushed the chair out with the tip of his boot and began to pour two glasses full. The waitress sat down with another shrug, while he remained on his feet, stretching and making that he’d been sitting for a while. She barely took any notice.

“Finishing up?” She shook her head and tipped the glass to him in thanks, then downed it in one go. He followed suit and refilled them.

“No, we’re open all night. We cater to a more night happy crowd.” He scoffed at that and she downed another shot’s worth of drink. “You new to the area?” Her tone was casual at best, almost uncaring.

“No, just passing through. I’ve been… away for a while. For a long time, actually. I thought I’d go home, see what’s changed. Heard about this place, thought I’d stop by, see what’s changed here, too.” He eyed her over the rim of the glass, and her eyes darted back to the doorway. Three more people came out from out the back, moving hungrily and not looking human at all as they moved to the walls around him.

“Much changed?” Her voice was steady, but her hands were shaking, and her nails seemed more pointed than they’d previously been. She tapped the table top and leaned back, scratching designs into the wood with one long nail.

“Some things haven’t.”

“Like what?” She smiled, showing teeth that were longer than they’d been when she’d sat down. The Indian dropped both hands down to his pockets casually, tucking his thumbs in and gripping the handles that were hidden by the thick jeans.

“Like the smell of vampire.” He looked over her shoulder at the others and smiled, showing his own blunt, human teeth. The vamp in front of him was clearly confused, before she hissed at him, her face paling and growing more elongated. The room writhed as more vamps stood up, shedding their human seemings and becoming vampires in action as well as truth.

He kicked out, slamming his boot into the vamp woman’s face and sending her scurrying away even as the other vamps clambered over the wooden furniture in their haste to get at him. Adrenalin coursing through him, he tore off the vest and rolled backwards, coming up with both hands in his pockets, drawing the machetes from the denim and smiling as he beheaded the first dullard that lunged at him. The blades, black and shining silver edges gleaming, sung as he moved forwards into the fray.

The female vamp rolled until she came to the door, and darted out into the new night. High above her was a blood moon, shining red in the dust that rose from the traffic heading into the US. She charged towards the car that the stranger had arrived in and flung the door open. A shotgun jerked out, two bayonets fixed to its barrels and sliding through her throat, even as the screams from her seethe began to sound in the night, dying screams of pain. She could feel the metal tubes of the barrel pressing against her throat, and dropped back, but the wielder followed her, one eyebrow cocked amusingly at her.

“Who are… you?” she managed around the blades. The man looked around and laid his free hand against his chest as if to say _“who… me?”_

“Well, my cohort in there would be the esteemed Daniel Ten Bears, late of, well, of an extended Nap Time. I myself, well…” He preened as her hands closed around the barrels and jerked them up, pulling the blades out of her throat with a snarl of desperation. He pulled the triggers and the sharp, heavy blast echoed across the rock plain. He watched her head jolt and roll free, smoke trailing from the ripped edge of her neck, blasted free by the two shells.

“I’m Gary Laughingdog.”

 

To be Continued


End file.
